Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(22)

I whirled around just as the bodies fell. Some were skeletons from the crypt, but most were not.

The Dead had us completely surrounded.

I twisted back to Daniel. “Cut any exposed skin on Jie that you can get to. Then shoot your pistol. I’ll hear it and cast the spell—”

“But again,” Oliver inserted, “how will you get to her?” He thrust a pointed finger at the never-ending lines of Dead tramping toward us.

“Take all the pulse bombs,” Joseph said, shoving his physician’s bag into Daniel’s hands. “And prepare all your pistols now.”

Nodding, Daniel hefted the bag onto his shoulder and began to load his weapons.

“Eleanor,” Joseph continued, “you and I will clear a wide, distracting path to Marcus. Oliver will protect our rear. Daniel can break away from us at the nearest intersection. Then, after he gets Jie, we will make our way for the harbor and the airship.”

Everyone nodded.

“Now, let us go.” He marched off, Daniel beside him. I moved to follow, but Oliver’s fingers landed on my shoulder.

“This isn’t right,” he said, his voice a mere murmur over the rain and blasts of Joseph’s electricity. “We walk straight into Marcus’s hands, Eleanor.”

“Allies,” I reminded him. “To the end.”

His teeth gritted, but he nodded. “To the end.”

“What are the words to cancel the compulsion spell?”

“It’s just one word: resiste. But you have to focus on what you’re trying to stop. In this case it’s Marcus’s spell. Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

His eyes raked over my face. “Be careful.” Then he pivoted backward to blast away the approaching corpses.

I stalked to Joseph’s side. My attacks were pitiful compared to his—a handful of corpses toppled for the dozens he could destroy at once. But we moved onward.

At the first branching alleyway, Daniel veered away from us to make his own path. But he only went two steps before he paused . . . then bent around and ran back to us. To me.

I watched him, momentarily confused. Then, in a fast, hard movement, he yanked me to him and pressed his lips to mine.

Rain ran over our cheeks. Our chests were slick and cold. Wind howled. But Daniel kissed me fiercely. All teeth and desperation, and hard enough to steal my breath and show me all the things we never had time to share.

Half a moment later, he pulled away and, without a word, shot off for the alley. Joseph’s bag swung on Daniel’s back, and before he vanished into the shadows, he withdrew two pulse pistols and took aim.

I sent a silent prayer after him—because, by God, I wanted him to come back to me—before turning to the battle once more. The rain was collecting in the streets, soaking into the fallen Dead. My feet slipped and ankles wrenched on jellied flesh.

Yet I did not slow or stop.

Several blocks, we worked and fought. Every few minutes I would peek at the building fronts. People watched us, safe in their homes.

I was glad we would have none of their blood on our hands, and though I did not think us protecting Marseille had been Marcus’s purpose when he set up the newspaper article, it did make this fight easier.

“Sleep.” The magic hurled from my fingers to snap the Dead leashes all around. My veins pumped with spiritual energy and something . . . darker. Something hungry.

Marcus was so close.

We rounded the final corner, and the buildings opened up in a wide intersection surrounded by more thin, red-roofed buildings. We had reached Marcus.

Kill him.

The blinding crush of hatred burst before my eyes . . . and then we were through the Dead. Like blades of grass in the wind, the last row of corpses between us and Marcus crumpled beneath Joseph’s blazing attack.

The blue light left trails in my eyes, but I didn’t care—as soon as I saw the shape of Jie’s enormous gown, the twisting rise of her hair, and the blank stare in her eyes, I moved.

Joseph and Oliver did not stop me. In fact, they fell back and vanished from my awareness. All I saw was Jie . . . and Marcus.

He stood, a lazy slant to his posture and his attention on his fingernails. It was a pose—a slouch of such disinterest that I knew it had to be fake. He was aware of every step I made.

But I was not trying for stealth—or for anything, really, other than getting close enough to utter the words of the spell.

So I stomped directly toward Marcus, my gut on fire and my eyes never leaving his face. Elijah’s face. But there was nothing of my brother left in that jawline. Marcus had grown even larger—feasting off sacrificial power. Off my mother’s blood. He had burgeoned like some fat leech, and his shoulders were twice as broad as the old Elijah’s.

I lifted the crystal clamp, wielding it before me like a gun.

But suddenly a flash of pain lurched through my stomach. Pierced my chest.

My footsteps faltered, then stopped completely. Agony coiled through me and threatened to cut off my air.

But it was not my own pain.

Oliver! I shrieked with my mind. Stop! For this hurt was his. This was his soul-deep rage at Marcus. . . . No, at Elijah. It coursed through me like worms. Stop, Oliver. Stop!

I fell forward, my hands flying out. . . .

The blackness rushed back, but it was too late. I hit the wet cobblestones. My palms ripped open. The crystal clamp clattered away from me—straight to Marcus.